Out of Bounds
by Jiinta Kid
Summary: Someone said to him, "Do you have any friends outside of tennis?" It just so happened that he didn't, and it began to gnaw at his head from then on. Ryoma-centric.
1. Introduction

**Title: **"Out of Bounds"

**Summary: **Someone said to him, "Do you have any friends outside of tennis?" It just so happened that he didn't, and it began to gnaw at his head from then on.

**Note:** I do have another story up, but I decided to play with another idea too, more for the reason that I'd have more to write, and therefore more opportunity to work on my writing. :O This story will include an OC, because I want to work with writing OC's, _however_, it doesn't mean that the story will focus on him. This story is mainly Ryoma-centric. Because, well, I just happen to love Ryoma. :) This is not a yaoi. The fic is mainly a "general" fic, though bits of fluffy (het) romance will occur later on.

I will appreciate any and all comments and constructive criticism. Hell, bring on the flames. I consider this work to be practice, of course, and I will closely take the suggestions into consideration as I work on the story.

By the way, I don't own it (Prince of Tennis).

-

"Do you have any friends outside of tennis?"

It was the question that stopped him from leaving his desk and going home for the rest of the day, because the reason behind it confused him and because… he wasn't sure if he had an answer for it.

He observed the other eighth-grader standing in front of his desk, a skinny, almost gangly-looking, boy with a curious frown, an expression that clearly stated he wouldn't leave until he got his reply. Ryoma couldn't even remember his name.

This was weird. Nobody actually talked to him in classrooms. Besides teachers, and anyone he knew who (now come to think of it) was somehow related to the tennis club.

"Um…" He quirked an eyebrow at the other student; why was this so important that it had to stall him from getting home? There was no tennis practice being held today and he had been eagerly hoping to get home and catch up on some rest. "Why?" he bluntly answered. He was really hoping the boy wasn't expecting many answers from him. He didn't feel like talking too long. Karupin must be really comfortable on top of his bed right now…

The dark-haired boy shrugged. "I know you're quite popular in school and all, but every single person in school realizes you don't talk to anyone, besides that Ryuzaki girl and her weird friend, Osakada, and those three guys who go to tennis practice with you." He paused, his forehead creasing slightly. Maybe pondering over what else to say, though Ryoma wished he would just quit pondering and leave him alone. He couldn't find a point in what the boy was asking.

Finally, the boy spoke again. "It's just, everyone thinks that's a little weird. Besides the girls that are always _gawking_ at you." He'd rolled his eyes.

Ryoma blinked, frowning. What the hell was he talking about? Weird? Well, it didn't matter, because the conversation was already boring him. He was beginning to wonder if his cousin, Nanako, had a Japanese-style dinner planned for him tonight. He heard a low groan come from his stomach, though apparently he was the only one who heard it. The other boy was still yapping away, beginning to show a resemblance to Horio's annoyingly long conversations.

"…and it's totally unfair that I got stuck working with you for this next project because I know I'm going to get stuck doing all the work since you never talk. I mean, what is it about the tennis players, anyway? They're the _only_ people you ever talk to, and I don't even think they're that special. I mean, the _whole_ _sport_ is stupid."

Ryoma's attention picked up again. Did he just say…? "What…" But he stopped himself short from rudely asking the boy what his problem was, because he'd just realized something else the boy had mentioned. "I'm working with you?" he asked, his memory a complete blank. Since when?

"What, are you _serious?_" The boy's eyes widened, his voice going just a pitch higher on the last word.

Ryoma slumped in his chair, annoyed and irritated. Did he really have to gape at him like that? It wasn't his fault at all that he was extremely fluent in English and that was enough to excuse him from falling asleep in the middle of class. Of course, now it meant that he was completely clueless about the annoying boys being randomly picked to work with him. Ones that had something against tennis. Ryoma wordlessly stared back at the boy; many things were wrong in his head, it was the only explanation for him to confuse tennis with his own stupidity.

"Don't give me that bad look," the boy scoffed, stepping back. "I can't believe I'm going to have to review all the guidelines with you. You know, scratch that. See me when you're ready to split the work." The boy rolled his boring brown eyes again and began to step away.

Ryoma felt more than just a little vindictive (and overly-irritated) toward the boy and surreptitiously pushed Ryuzaki's bag to the middle of the aisle with his foot; the boy wasn't looking, and with his feet, tripped over the too full bag. His chest slammed against Ryuzaki's desk, and a heavy grunt was heard coming from his throat. Ryuzaki yelped in her seat, covering her face with her hands.

The boy slowly pushed himself back up. He gulped hard, then took a deep breath, before he stiffly made his way out of the classroom. Ryoma missed the expression on his face, but that was fine—he was sure it was something close to mortification.

Ryuzaki held her hands back down to look at him. "R-Ryoma-kun, what happened?"

He shrugged, as if he had no more clue than she did. He got up from his seat to gather all his belongings, and overheard Ryuzaki musing over her bag: "That's weird… how did my bag get over there? _Oh, no!_" She abruptly pressed her hands to her cheeks, her face becoming immediately pale. "Was it _my_ fault Kuyo-kun tripped?" she thought, her voice almost squeaking.

Ryoma walked past her, disregarding her worries, and joined the other students in the hall who were just as eager as he was to leave the school. Perhaps he was more eager than they were; without tennis practice, there was nothing else for him to do on campus.

This reminded him of what 'Kuyo-kun' had said to him earlier. He pulled his eyebrows together, feeling the old irritation return. What did it matter to him what another student had to say about him? It shouldn't. Though he was very good at ignoring all the fame that came with his tennis in this school, _never_—in his one year and almost half at Seigaku—had he ever heard someone point out a flaw in him. The only exceptions came with his opponents on the courts, but that was part of the intimidation game, and besides, he had always proven that he could overcome these so-called 'flaws' in the end. He had the words _and_ he had the skills to back himself up.

He stopped on the curb, waiting on the red pedestrian light. Older pedestrians joined him, tightly surrounding his small figure.

Perhaps what bugged him the most was the realization that in this case… he _didn't_ have any specific skills to back himself up. He didn't have _tennis_ with him.

And that very much bothered him.

-


	2. A Hobby

**Out of Bounds**

Jiinta Kid

A/N: Hmm… I hope I don't stray off too much from Ryoma's character. Not like we get anything from Ryoma's POV in the series, so I had a bit of fun with him. :o) Enjoy the chapter. (Regulars are back next chapter! :O)

Chapter 2: A Hobby

—

He _thought_ this was the place.

123rd Jinyou Street. Their mailbox said it all: _Kuyo Residence_. Yes, this was definitely that boy's house. Ryoma sighed, pocketing the slip of paper with the boy's address. This afternoon would be a wasted afternoon. Not that he had plans back home, but he couldn't see how being here would be any more interesting.

When he rang the doorbell, he expected to be greeted by none other than "Kuyo-kun," who would surely still be carrying a frown around from last week's "accident." And it _was _an accident because admitting otherwise would mean that Ryoma would have to apologize, and Ryoma wasn't planning on apologizing. He glanced to his left while he waited, watching the water fountain surrounded by white flowers. A small garden. It was a modest home, but nowhere near as big as the temple he lived in. If his father was here, he would be asking where they intended to put a tennis court here, with such a small place. He couldn't imagine a reason not to have a tennis court in your own home. But then again, neither could Ryoma.

"Hello, there!" The woman who greeted him wasn't Kuyo; Kuyo couldn't be a woman, after all. But she could be his mother. They shared enough physical traits: the dark-brown hair, the brown eyes, the skin so pale that it was painfully obvious they didn't spend enough time out playing tennis. Or any sport.

"Hi," Ryoma simply said. He looked past her. Was Kuyo even there? He could see the kitchen and living room from where he was, but no sign of the other boy. He'd better be. He didn't walk all the way here for nothing. _It'd be a wasted afternoon either way_, he had to remind himself.

"Come on in, make yourself at home," said the woman, stepping aside to allow him some room. "Guest slippers are here… I'm Kuyo Shimori, Daisuke's mother. You can call me Shimori, if you want."

What an indecent woman. Already on a first-name basis and she didn't even know him yet. What if he was the most rowdiest kid in the neighborhood?

"Daisuke, your friend is here!" Shimori called up the stairs. "He'll be back in a moment. I'm making curry, you want some?"

Ryoma stared at her. She was a very different woman, at least very different from his mother. She had an informal way of addressing strangers, as if they were already friends. Ryoma didn't see the point. It wasn't as if he was coming here to be her friend. Or anyone's friend. He was here to get _required_ work done, and he'd do that with the fastest effort possible. He'd like to go back to the daily routine of afternoon naps, whenever possible.

Good thing he didn't really have to answer her. _Daisuke_ was at the top of the stairs now. "Mom, he's not a friend. Just someone I got stuck working with."

"Oh." Shimori got a contemplative look on her face, wondering about something they obviously couldn't know about. Ryoma wasn't a mind reader, though sometimes he wished he was; people could be so hard to read. "So it's that kind of friend. Well, you're invited to stay for dinner, if you still want. I'll be in the kitchen." She swiftly turned around and left Ryoma with Kuyo.

He was right to assume that Kuyo would be frowning. Because he was. He vaguely wondered when he would get tired, or forget, to frown like that whenever he saw him. But the frown reminded Ryoma of tripping the boy, and that itself was a small victory. So when he thought about it again, the frown wasn't so bad.

"What are you waiting for? Come upstairs already."

"Hai…"

He was _so_ pleasant. Ryoma glared daggers behind the boy's back. Just as informal as his mother.

This assignment better not take days.

—

They sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other, while Kuyo took the time to read the instructions out loud.

"_'Find a hobby you both like. Can be a sport, a board game, the internet… then write a paper about it and why you like it so much. Research the background history of your hobby — when did humans start to practice it, what was its goal, who was its inventor, if applicable. Remember that it has to be written in English.' _Then she lists some specifics about what else we need to mention in the paper…" Kuyo glanced up from the sheet, eyeing Ryoma closely.

"What?" Ryoma asked. Why the need to look at him like that? He heard him loud and clear.

"Why do you look so calm? This paper's going to take hours to write!" Kuyo said, waving the sheet at him.

"Tch, this is easy," Ryoma replied, placing his hands behind his head.

"Eh?" Kuyo raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I don't have a problem with writing English. I could finish it in one night."

Kuyo frowned. "I forgot, you came from America, didn't you? Well, you don't have sit there and pretend it's so easy, just 'cause it is for you! Besides, we _both_ have to do the work. Last thing I need is for you to run off to the teacher and complain about doing all the work. I don't need points taken off."

"I wouldn't do that," Ryoma replied, by now leaning against the wall.

"That's what you say…" Kuyo said, eyeing him with suspicion. "Besides, we need a subject and we don't have that yet."

"Tennis," Ryoma replied, without second thinking. This was the easiest paper, he didn't see why Kuyo had to make such a big deal about it. There; he'd already given him everything they need.

But Kuyo didn't back down. "_You_ like tennis, but _I_ don't. And I'm not sitting down writing about some stupid sport."

Ryoma twitched. "It's not a stupid sport…" he mumbled under his breath, but to argue would be futile. Kuyo had already proved his dislike for tennis their first encounter.

"I was thinking we find another hobby we both like," said Kuyo, reading the paper again. "There's 'board games' listed here. I like to play _Go_."

Ryoma smirked. "Isn't that a game for _old_ people?" he said.

Kuyo reddened. "No, it's not!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. "I play it all the time with my grandfather Kyo…"

"My point exactly," Ryoma interrupted, and Kuyo's arms fell to his sides.

"Well, what about reading? Do you read?" Kuyo regained his composure.

"No. Not really."

"Fly kites?"

"That's…childish."

"Arts, crafts…?"

Ryoma stared at him. "Are you as boring as you sound?" he said, and watched with amusement as the other boy's mouth hung open.

"I'm not _boring!_" Kuyo exclaimed, and he pointed a finger at Ryoma. Ryoma thought that was exaggerating. "_You're_ the one who doesn't seem to like anything! What _do_ you like then?"

Ryoma didn't care, didn't want to cooperate. He just wanted to do the project his way and be done with it. But Kuyo wasn't having any of that, and if he found other reasons to blab away the night, he would, and Ryoma wouldn't like that. (He'd rather like to go to sleep soon, thank you very much.) So he thought about his answer.

"…crossword puzzles."

It was as if all noise ceased to exist. Kuyo blinked at him. And blinked again.

Before he finally burst out in laughter.

Ryoma scowled. "What's so funny?" he demanded, straightening up. Kuyo wouldn't stop laughing, and Ryoma reached for the nearest thing on the floor. An empty soda can.

"_Ow!_" Kuyo's annoying laughter stopped, much to Ryoma's relief, and the boy rubbed his palms against his forehead. The empty can had ricocheted under Kuyo's bed, another thing added to the collecting pile of junk under there.

"No call for that!" Kuyo cried.

"You wouldn't stop laughing."

"And you tripped me last week, so I have every right to laugh at you!"

The two boys glared at each other.

The animosity between the boys didn't end, even when Kuyo broke the silence after a full minute. "I don't care what you say, we're doing _Go_. You'll just have to teach it to yourself, because I won't help you."

"Tch. Like I'd need help from you," Ryoma replied, looking away. Kuyo stood up from the floor and walked over to his desk by the window. Ryoma glanced at the other things in the room; figurine models, music posters (was that classical music?), and a pile of reading material. Nothing related to sports whatsoever.

"Ne," Ryoma spoke up.

"What?" Kuyo spat, without turning his back around.

"Don't you play any sports? At all?"

"Don't have time for them," Kuyo replied stiffly. "They're all dumb, anyway."

Ryoma got up, beginning to get an idea in his head. He smirked. "They're 'dumb,' or you're just too weak to play any?"

"Weak?" Kuyo finally turned around, frowning at him. "It's not that I'm weak! I just don't have time for them!"

"Why not?"

"Because…because…" Kuyo was sputtering, and Ryoma felt his objective was getting closer. "I…I do play! Sometimes."

Ryoma sized him up, and made sure to appear as if Kuyo resembled nothing about being in physical shape, which wasn't hard; the boy was scrawny, pale-looking, not a single muscle in his arms. "Hmph. You don't look it," he said, giving Kuyo a superior look.

Kuyo flushed. "I do too! Throw me any name, and I'll play it! Anything! 'Cept Tennis, of course." He crossed his arms, as if that would make him look any tougher, which of course, it didn't.

"Basketball."

It was the first sport that came to his mind; he hadn't been intending to mention tennis, he knew that was a lost argument. He watched as Kuyo's face drained of color, but only momentarily.

"S-Sure, I can play basketball," said Kuyo. "Easy as pie!"

Ryoma raised an eyebrow. _Pie isn't hard to eat…_

And so, their 'hobby' had been chosen.

—

Ryoma was glad that part of the ordeal was over, because he would get a week's worth of relaxation from the project. Kuyo insisted to get a week off work, to 'begin research' on the historical background of the sport, but Ryoma got the feeling he was just using the time off to practice on the courts before making a fool of himself.

In either case, he was fine with it. Kuyo wouldn't be bothering him for the whole week, so he'd promised.

"_Not like I'd like to speak to you, anyway. Tripper."_

"This is the first time Echizen has had to work with someone, isn't it?" Horio turned around in his desk to face him.

Great, he had to listen to Horio's voice now. And he was looking his way, too. Perfect.

"I wasn't expecting to see Kuyo-san again, thought Echizen might finish him off…"

Ryoma glared at him. "I don't 'finish off' people…" he argued quietly.

Horio brushed his comment off. Sakuno was sweat-dropping next to Horio. Loud Osakada was nodding her head off to whatever Horio said. "Ya, I was totally expecting Kuyo-san to come to school with tennis ball marks on his face!" she added.

"Tomo-chan…"

"So you picked tennis, right? For your hobby?" Osakada went on. She was looking at Ryoma.

"No," Ryoma replied.

"No?! What else did you pick then?" Horio cried out.

"…Basketball."

"_Ehhhh…!"_ Horio and Osakada looked like they were about to lose their balance. What was the big deal?

"But, but, but…!" Horio stuttered. "Echizen, do you even _know_ how to play basketball?"

Ryoma shrugged. "It shouldn't be that hard."

Osakada stared at him open-mouthed, then seemed to regain her composure, and straightened up. She was now grinning. "Well, _this_ I gotta see. Ryoma-sama playing basketball! I'm sure he'll be just as great! Hey! This means I have more work to do!" She punched her fists together.

Sakuno blinked. "More…work?"

"Yeah! I've got to make more posters now, with Ryoma-sama and basketballs! You'll help me, Sakuno, won't you?"

"…Sure."

"Oi, Echizen, Tezuka-buchou's coming back this week to inspect our team this year. Neat, huh?" said Horio, conveniently changing the subject. And it actually caught Ryoma's attention.

"Tezuka-buchou?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Horio proudly, happy as he always was when delivering news no one else (seemingly) knew about. "Think he wants to see how the junior high team is faring. About time, too… Momo-senpai and Kaido-senpai have been really at it…"

Kachiro joined them, holding a lunch box in his hands. "Yeah, even though Kaido-senpai's the captain now, they still clash with each other about which training is 'suitable' for the day."

That much wasn't news to Ryoma. He'd had to stand in the background with his racquet twirling in his hands while waiting for Kaido and Momo to settle their differences on the court and _finally_ tell the juniors what to do. He missed Tezuka-buchou's much more organized style.

"Hmm…Tezuka-buchou is in high school now. Wai, he must be so handsome now!" said Osakada.

"He looks exactly the same," Horio said, grumpiness in his voice. If Ryoma paid more attention, he'd care enough to wonder why Horio's sudden change in tone.

"It'll be nice to see Tezuka-buchou again, won't it, Ryoma-kun?" Sakuno smiled at him.

Ryoma shrugged. But the truth was, she was rather right. It _would_ be nice to see his old captain again, and it was the first bit of news this week he could look forward to. This whole english project had bummed him out, but at least now he was back, even if for a while, to the way things used to be; back to his life in _tennis_.

That was how he liked things.


End file.
